


Difficult Love

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Series: A Combination Of Skill And Luck [5]
Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: An unusual lack of angst, Developing Relationship, Don't let the title fool you this is a pretty happy fic by my standards, Fluff, Getting Together, I gave Harry chickens again, Ignores Season 3, Lodge dodge, M/M, minimal plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 11:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22710334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: After quite a few poorly-written novels Dale was forced to consume during school and later college, he’s long held the belief that authors simply don’t understand how difficult love truly is in real life.
Relationships: Dale Cooper/Harry Truman
Series: A Combination Of Skill And Luck [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1617793
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	Difficult Love

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! I was up until 04:00 this morning finishing up with writing this thing and then editing it before posting, so any mistakes can safely be blamed on insomnia.
> 
> Stuff I looked up for this fic:  
> -the 1990 Super Bowl  
> -most popular brand of beer per state  
> -roster for the 1967-1968 Philadelphia Flyers  
> -a calendar for 1990 so I could get the days of the week right
> 
> Enjoy.

After quite a few poorly-written novels Dale was forced to consume during school and later college, he’s long held the belief that authors simply don’t understand how difficult love truly is in real life.

Granted, those novels generally had other plots going on at the same time, which meant there wasn’t space to fully develop the love plots in favor of the main events. He resolved at the time he was reading them that had he been the writer, he would’ve simply omitted the romance altogether from most of those novels. But even then, as a child and subsequently a young man, he’d equally poorly understood how difficult love is. He’d desired to remove those sub-plots mainly due to the fact that they seemed entirely unnecessary at the time. Approaching his thirty-first birthday and much wiser now, his understanding is far greater.

For example: a young and extremely naïve special-agent-in-training of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, mentored by a much older and more experienced special agent, both assigned to protect a witness. Young and naïve special-agent-in-training develops quite the little crush on this witness much too quickly, and as this witness is the wife of his mentor she has an affair with him despite both of them understanding the deep levels of betrayal they were perpetrating. Then the witness is murdered because the agent-in-training wasn’t paying attention and was stabbed in the torso. A very complex situation indeed, not to mention unbearably tragic for everyone involved.

For further example: the same special agent, now significantly more competent, who having been sent to the northwest corner of the lower 48 states investigates the murder of a high-school girl and becomes entangled with a number of supernatural phenomena while consuming copious amounts of very delicious pies. Meanwhile this much more competent version of the special agent makes some good friends in this location, and following the case’s conclusion and several other related mishaps takes up permanent residence there. The problem - he’s terribly, hopelessly in love now with one of those friends, who seems to be completely unaware of his romantic inclinations or his abnormal sexual orientation (the latter of the two, admittedly, is by design). To further complicate matters this special agent is still away for weeks at a time, assigned to cases by the FBI and not able to see this friend as often as either of them would like.

Dale sighs.

“Refill?” Shelly offers, appearing by the booth with a pot of coffee.

“Please,” Dale accepts, sliding his empty mug closer.

“Y’know Norma said she might start serving lunch at 9:30 just so you can have pie in the morning,” she grins.

Dale smiles. This is the best news he’s received all week. “Well, if she does, I’ll greatly appreciate it and I’ll also be sure to take advantage of it whenever possible. Thank you, Shelly.”

He sips at his freshly filled mug and considers another exasperated sigh. Harry’s over an hour late - they’d made arrangements to meet for breakfast today to discuss a stakeout and Dale’s aware that Harry wouldn’t be late for this without an extremely good reason. That doesn’t mean he’s immune to worry or mild annoyance, especially on such a cold and miserable January morning. It’s been sleeting outside for the past thirty five minutes (not that Dale’s been counting while looking out the window of the diner) and the roads will be even more treacherous than they were when he drove in.

The bell above the door rings and Harry appears, immediately divesting himself of his coat and hat to reveal jeans and a flannel which are spattered with dried blood. The expression on his face can easily rival the dismalness of Dale’s own mood at the moment, and he comes over to drop heavily into the opposite side of the booth with a groan.

“Morning, Coop. Sorry I’m late.”

Dale gestures at the blood. “I take it something exciting befell you recently? Good morning, Harry.”

“Yeah, coyote.”

“Coyotes are nocturnal, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, yeah they are… except when they got rabies.” Harry shakes his head and rolls back his sleeve to show a bandage covering his lower left arm. “I had to run to the hospital and get shots before coming over.”

“Harry-”

“Don’t worry, it’s happened before, I’ll be fine. You just gotta go get the shots right away… after this I’ll have to call the state and give them a report, though, and they’re not there on weekends.”

Dale is absolutely horrified by this situation, but he does his best not to reveal it since Harry is so unconcerned. “Are you certain it was rabid?”

“Not… entirely,” Harry admits. “Damn thing was tryna eat my chickens… that’s what they’re always after, this one was just looking funny while doing it. And they’re not usually out during the day, which is a big red flag. Whenever you get bit by something, Coop, just suck it up and go get the fifty shots jabbed into your belly. It sure as hell beats dying.”

“Are you going to be alright?”

“Yeah, eventually. Like I said, not the first time this’s happened.” Harry pauses to receive his own helping of coffee from Shelly before getting down to the business at hand. “Are you set for Wednesday?”

“Yes. Were you able to ascertain the identity of the suspects?”

“They might be affiliated with the late Jean Renault’s ‘business’,” Harry answers in a low voice. “I appreciate you helping me out, Coop.”

“You never have to thank me for this, Harry. You accepted me as one of the Bookhouse Boys and I’ll always do my best to live up to it.” Dale smiles. “It’ll be like old times.”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, but without dead girls involved again… I hope.”

Dale can’t stop himself from returning to the previous subject. “Will there be further injections?”

“Yup.” Harry shakes his head and fidgets slightly with a napkin. “I get to do this a bunch more times… after four weeks it stops, and let me tell you, Coop, those are the longest four weeks you’ll ever live through. They’re gonna dissect the brain of the animal to see if it actually did have rabies, but that can’t happen until Monday.”

“Were you able to neutralize it?”

“It took 12-gauge buckshot point blank to the chest, so I sure as hell hope so. My chickens are all fine, though.”

“I see. That is, of course, the most important part of this story, Harry, and not your own health.”

Harry grins at him. “Buying more chickens is expensive, Coop.”

Dale frowns. “But Harry, you can’t be replaced at all.”

The grin softens a little and Harry briefly looks down to his coffee mug before turning back to Dale. “I’m gonna be fine, Coop. I promise.”

* * *

“Harry, I was wondering if we could speak frankly for a moment… no, that might put him on edge,” Dale informs the mirror. He finishes combing his hair. _There is, theoretically, a feasible and delicate way to approach this topic,_ he thinks, placing the comb in his back pocket. _A balance must be achieved in order not to beat around the bush while also not frightening him off._

Dale frowns to himself as he pulls on his flannel shirt, buttoning it but not tucking it into his pants like normal. He’s not a frequent visitor of the Roadhouse, which means that he’s dressing in such a way as to vaguely imply that he’s a trucker or some other out-of-towner in order to conduct surveillance while Harry sits outside in the vehicle. This means an untucked shirt, poorly-combed hair, and blue jeans… an article of clothing Dale does not particularly care for and so had to borrow from Harry. It’s fortunate that Dale isn’t currently assigned to a case. Ed continues to have distractingly intense marital problems and Hawk is out of town to visit family, so Dale is the next best choice to assist Harry.

However, that doesn’t mean Dale isn’t also feeling distracted. “Harry, I have something I’d like to confess…” He sighs. “No, that sounds ominous.”

Pounding on his front door shortly follows the words he’s speaking into his bedroom mirror and Dale relocates in order to answer. As expected, it’s Harry.

“You look like a mess,” his friend chuckles. “It’s perfect, Coop, nobody’ll know you’re a cop… here, this’ll help too.” He reaches into a pocket on his coat and pulls out a crumpled baseball cap with some company logo on its front, then tugs it down over Dale’s purposefully haphazardly-fixed hair. “There.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

“Sure. Ready to go?”

Dale smiles and gives a thumbs-up, and they both climb into Harry’s truck. His scalp tingles lightly where Harry’s fingers touched it. He’s still, in one corner of his mind, considering ways to inform Harry of his feelings in the least awkward manner possible. No solutions are forthcoming at the moment, so he ultimately abandons the concept for the time being and works to fixate all of his mental focus on the task at hand instead. They’ll be meeting Andy there so that two officers will be available to potentially arrest the drug traffickers.

The roadhouse seems to be experiencing a typical amount of business for a Wednesday night - more than a little, less than a lot. Upon arrival Dale orders a beer and places himself in a location of the establishment that feels as inconspicuous as possible. He slumps forwards to rest his weight on the table via his elbows and forearms, choosing an air of melancholy or mild malaise to display to unsuspecting eyes. A lone chipper person in a bar on Wednesday night is unusual to say the least and Dale needs a demeanor befitting his artificially disheveled state. Positioned the way he is, nobody will notice the radio on his belt. He and Harry decided beforehand that he should tap the button twice to make brief pings of static to alert Harry if he begins to notice suspicious activity.

It doesn’t take especially long for Dale to see what he’s looking for. There are no drugs visible, and he’s too far away to hear them (especially with the band playing), but everything Dale needs to know is written across their faces like with a Sharpie. He’s able to do a partial lip-read at some moments as well, enough to more than confirm Harry’s suspicions but not to offer an identity of whoever now sells illicit substances to minors. Dale feels mildly frustrated by this, but he wasn’t expecting them to be absentminded enough to mention names to each other in a public area.

Dale sits and nurses his beer for nearly an hour, making every effort to appear as though he isn’t constantly watching them. The brim of the snapback Harry put on him certainly helps with that, and he makes a note to thank his friend for such a useful (if basic) tool. At last, his patience is rewarded: somewhere approaching five ounces of cocaine subtly passes between hands.

Dale watches them get up to leave and slips his radio up from his belt. “Harry, Andy, two men. One approximately five-foot-ten in a green jacket, brown hair, beard. One approximately five-foot-six in a blue flannel with a tan vest, winter hat. The one in the green jacket has the cocaine,” he murmurs, just loud enough for the radio to pick it up.

“Copy,” comes Harry’s voice in reply, nearly as quiet as Dale’s.

Dale takes the last two sips of his beer in a very leisurely fashion before paying and leaving the Roadhouse - and is immediately treated by the image of Harry football-tackling the suspect in possession of the cocaine to the ground and fighting him into the cuffs. Had he left only a minute sooner, he would’ve gotten to watch Harry chase the perp as well… it’s very difficult to outrun Harry, even when Harry’s in chunky snow boots. The man doesn’t look like he should be as fast as he is.

Dale approaches and assists Harry in dragging the suspect out of the slush as Harry informs him of his rights. “You have the right to an attorney, if you can’t afford one then one will be appointed to you.”

“Was Andy able to apprehend the second one?” Dale asks while none-too-gently shoving their detainee into the back of Harry’s truck.

“Yeah, he didn’t put up too much of a fight.” They brush themselves off and climb into the front to sit. “Thanks for your help, Coop.”

“Harry, you never have to thank me for upholding the law,” Dale smiles. “Incidentally, the baseball cap was very helpful and I appreciate you loaning it to me.”

Harry snorts. “You’re welcome… now we get to go do stacks of paperwork.”

“The curse of successful arrests,” Dale agrees. “Will there be coffee?”

“Of course, there might even be some donuts left from earlier. We can wait until tomorrow to do the interrogation, though.”

“Harry, I’ve said this many times already, but it bears repeating: you’re alright,” Dale grins.

“Hey, I know you don’t always know in advance, but do you have any long cases coming up?”

“Not that I’m aware, why?”

“Super Bowl’s the last Sunday of the month, you should come watch with me if you want,” Harry offers.

“To be perfectly honest, Harry, I may be the worst possible person to ask that from. I know nothing about football and would spend the entire game asking you questions and distracting you. Coworkers have attempted to enjoy my company at sports events before with only limited success.”

“Coop, has it ever happened that we went out to do something together and we made it through the whole day without you asking a single thing?” Harry laughs. “‘Harry, what kind of bird makes that noise?’ ‘Harry, I think I saw a fox, do they live around here?’ ‘Harry, what’s football?’”

Dale breaks out in hysterics at his friend’s abysmal impression of his voice. “Alright, I suppose that’s fair.”

“So you don’t watch sports?”

“Only hockey, which they don’t air on tv here.”

“Yeah, we don’t have a local team.”

“I grew up watching the Flyers. Many people don’t appreciate the amount of geometry and precision that’s required to play hockey in a quality and entertaining manner… the majority of my friends at school would only watch with me to see the fistfights.”

“That’s the only good thing _in_ hockey,” Harry comments. “You can’t even see the little thing they’re fighting over most of the time.”

“The puck, Harry. It’s called a puck.”

“Okay.” Harry’s disinterest in hockey is unfortunate, but Dale doesn’t dwell on it or interrupt. “Anyway, like I said, you should come watch the Super Bowl with me.”

“Alright, if the Bureau has no need of me that weekend, then I will.” He frowns. “Will your rabies shots have concluded by then?”

“Uh…” Harry thinks. “Yeah, but just barely. I have my last round of them the day before.” He shakes his head. “Don’t ever get bit by anything, Coop. Getting stabbed in the gut a thousand times is something you can definitely live without, trust me.”

“I don’t doubt it, Harry, and believe me when I say you have my utmost sympathies on this issue.”

“The state chopped up the brain of the coyote and they said the results were inconclusive. That sure as hell doesn’t help me sleep at night.”

“No, I imagine it doesn’t. Are there any additional stipulations?”

“Well, until the shots are done I have to be considered dangerous, so if I have to get blood drawn or anything the poor guy doing it has to be extra careful. Not supposed to kiss anyone either, but that doesn’t really matter since I’m single.”

“Well, it’s possible that may change for you very soon, Harry.”

“Why, did you dream about it?” his friend asks, very seriously.

“No, it’s more of an intuitive feeling… an optimistic one, I should add.”

“You’re always optimistic.”

“Yes, Albert once told me it makes him nauseous how positive I can be.”

They arrive at the station with Andy on their heels and place the two suspects in separate cells before gathering in the kitchenette for coffee. There are arrest forms to fill out for Andy and Harry, and Dale technically has to make a witness statement. He takes a moment between sips of coffee to straighten out his clothes and re-comb his hair before sitting in front of Harry’s desk with the form.

“So do you wanna do the interrogation tomorrow?” Harry asks.

“In the strictest technical sense it would be more in keeping with procedure for you to do it. I was at no point assigned to this case, so I’ll leave it in your hands.”

“Okiedoke.” Harry frowns at the paperwork in front of him. “It kinda bothers me that we still have this problem.”

“If you like, I can contact Denise and see if she’ll come back to look into it. If these men are affiliated with the ‘business’ the Renault brothers were part of like you suspect, there are international ties and it may be warranted to get the DEA involved.”

“If it won’t be too big of a problem for her, then yeah, I’d be alright with that.”

* * *

“Coop, we’ve got something really important to talk about,” Denise says as Dale sits across from her for breakfast.

It’s a strange sensation, eating his first meal of the day at the Great Northern. Several things lately have been odd and familiar, between working directly in conjunction with Harry and wearing a suit to go to the station. And yet he still drives home each night instead of returning to room 315. Everything feels just slightly mismatched.

“Alright, would you like to inform me before or after coffee?” Dale asks.

They don’t have a choice in the matter, apparently, because the waitress serves their coffee almost immediately after Dale has settled. He takes a sip and smiles - Norma’s coffee is excellent, the coffee at the station is excellent, but here at the Great Northern it’s absolutely heavenly and one of the things he missed right away when he made Twin Peaks his permanent residence.

“So tell me about how you’ve managed to convince Albert that you’re straight. Usually he can tell, but he never mentioned this to me.”

“Well, I don’t speak to Albert or most people in general about my sexual orientation,” Dale answers calmly. If it were someone besides Denise (or maybe Harry) inquiring about this, he would get very upset with them, but she’ll understand much better than anyone else he knows. “What gave me away?”

“You know in cartoons how the characters’ eyes turn into hearts? You look like that around the sheriff,” she smiles, amused but kind.

“I’ve been recently considering a way to approach the subject with him.”

“Just be honest with him, Coop.”

“Denise, I appreciate that from an outside perspective that may seem like a simple matter, but I assure you it’s quite the opposite.”

“If he’s alright with _me_ he shouldn’t be too confused if you tell him you’re gay.”

“I’m bisexual.”

“Either way.” She rests a hand on his wrist. “Coop, I hope this isn’t too uncomfortable for me to ask you about, but how many people have you told?”

“Total?”

“Yes.”

“One, including you.”

“Well, maybe it’s time you changed that. Don’t you see him outside of work? There might be a good time for you to tell him then.”

“He asked me to watch football with him on the 28th.”

“See? That’s perfect.”

Dale frowns slightly, but it’s in thoughtfulness. He’s considered this idea recently but it seems possible there will be others present besides Harry and himself. What little Dale knows about football includes the fact that his coworkers in the past have hosted massive “Super Bowl parties” at their homes with copious amounts of junk food and alcohol. He doesn’t expect such a thing from a mildly introverted man like Harry, but it seems possible there will be at least a small handful of other people in attendance.

“Denise, was it difficult for you to explain your…” He searches desperately for the correct term and draws a blank.

“Transition,” she supplies.

“Yes. Your transition to your superiors?”

“A little bit, but I’m glad I did. There were one or two people who spoke up loudly enough to support me that I got to keep my job.”

“I worry for the state of my friendship with Harry when I tell him,” Dale confesses. “And not only for the usual, selfish reasons why one might conceal this information about themselves. He isn’t especially close with his family and I’m one of approximately three people he’s genuinely close with. I’ve strongly suspected for quite some time that he’s much lonelier than he admits to himself, and I don’t want to make it worse.”

“You know, I don’t think this would,” Denise speculates. She takes a sip of her own coffee and smiles. “Besides, if it worked out in your favor, the two of you would be a really cute couple.”

Dale chooses not to comment on that last part. “I’ll take your suggestions into consideration, and I appreciate that you want to help.”

“I think you should get to be happy, Dale.”

He’s not expecting that. Denise, as far as he knows, isn’t aware of what happened with Caroline, so it’s not worth explaining that at times he feels like he doesn’t deserve to be happy after that. At least not in terms of his love life. He’s found other ways to be happy instead.

* * *

In four days, the DEA makes a decision to take the case completely into their control and essentially demote Dale and the Twin Peaks Sheriff's Department to witnesses if necessary. Dale is relatively unsurprised by this, and the timing works as well because on Thursday he has to fly to DC for several days to attend a training seminar.

Harry is significantly less thrilled with this development.

“Coop can I ask you something?” he says as they sit in his office with most of a box of donuts and full mugs of coffee.

“Ask away, Harry.”

“Last year if it was some other agent than you, would the FBI have done this with Laura Palmer too?”

“Most likely. Personally I believe in cooperation and symbiosis. Unfortunately most of my colleagues don’t share that sentiment and it’s highly probable you would’ve been partially or completely sidelined from the investigation.”

Harry looks irritated at his answer. “It’s my town these drugs are getting funneled into.”

“I don’t believe it was Denise’s decision,” Dale points out. “The brass were almost certainly the ones behind it, federal law enforcement organizations tend to be extremely picky in these matters. I wouldn’t be offended if I were you, Harry. It happens to others in your position on a daily basis.”

Harry nods. “You’re probably right, Coop. I’m just being grumpy this afternoon, don’t mind me.”

“I can change the subject to something more cheerful if you want.”

“Go for it.”

“I’ll be back from DC on Friday morning next week, and shortly following I’ll be joining you for a sports tournament I know nothing about. What can I reasonably expect?”

“A lot of beer drinking and yelling at the television set,” Harry admits. “But you probably want something more specific than that, right? We’ll be rooting for the Broncos.”

“Are they your chosen team normally?”

“No, but Denver’s closer to here than San Francisco so I picked them instead. Usually I watch the Seahawks for obvious reasons.”

And for once, Harry is the one launching into a ten minute explanation of something instead of Dale, explaining the broad strokes of football interspersed with brief anecdotes from his time playing during school. Dale listens attentively and absorbs the information as thoroughly as if it was related to a case he was working. He doesn’t care for this sport in particular, but it’s reasonable to assume that he’ll be able to enjoy it simply because he’ll be watching it with Harry.

Harry’s shpeil is finished with this: “Do you have cable tv, Coop?”

“I do, why?”

“If you get CNBC you can watch hockey games on there sometimes. I figured you might appreciate that, I noticed it the other night.”

Dale offers his best smile. “Thank you, Harry! I’ll be sure to look into it now.”

“Probably not Flyers games all that often, though.”

“No, that seems highly unlikely, but having a game to watch at all will still be nice.”

Harry has discovered information on a sport he doesn’t even like purely for Dale’s benefit. This small and essentially insignificant act of kindness makes Dale unreasonably happy. He loves Harry so much.

* * *

Both of them are on their sixth cans of Rainier when the situation becomes strange.

Dale, ordinarily, doesn’t sit and drink beers in succession like this and vaguely fears that he’ll suffer consequences tomorrow. They’ve also eaten a significant amount of food, though. Harry’s far from a terrible cook, and this does help the alcohol consumption.

“Hey Coop?” Harry starts from the opposite corner of the couch, shifting to place the can on the floor and crush it under his foot. He reaches down on the other side to produce a fresh unit of beer.

“Yes, Harry?”

Dale expects the ensuing conversation to be a continuation of Harry’s outrage at the 20-3 score as they approach the end of the second quarter.

“Cn’I ask you somethin’?”

“Anything, Harry.”

Harry fidgets and takes a long swallow of beer. “You want another one, too?”

Dale finishes off the can he currently holds and also crushes it in the same manner. “Yes please.”

Cool aluminum is pressed into his palm. They’re both very close to drunk if they aren’t already, so it stands to reason that he’s in a less intuitive state than usual. This explains why he’s so fully unprepared for what Harry says.

“You don’t… you don’t hafta answer this’f you don’t want, but. It seems likes sometimes.” Harry growls, apparently frustrated with his current state of intoxication. “Are you gay?”

Dale immediately drops his recently-opened and mostly full can of Rainier onto the floor. Ordinarily he isn’t clumsy, but while drunk he finds there are many exceptions to his normal behavior.

“Did Denise say to… say something to you, Harry?” he demands instead of answering.

“Kinda… she didn’t say you are or anything. She’s. She said. It looks like I wanna talk about s’mthing t’you and if I do then I should. That’s all. I wanted to ask for awhile.” Harry reaches into the box at his feet. “Here. I’ll clean up that on the floor later.”

Dale drinks some of his new beer before answering. “It’s not an easy answer, Harry.”

“Okay.” Harry nods agreeably. “But are you?”

“Not exactly. I’m able. Able to be attracted to other men. But also to women.” Another long drink from the can.

“I don’want you to feel weird about it, Coop.” Harry leans slightly closer, clumsily landing a heavy palm on Dale’s shoulder. “It’s not weird.”

“Harry I wanted tell… to tell you,” Dale admits, stumbling over his own voice. “I was worried.”

“You don’gotta be worried.” Harry shakes his head and nearly loses his balance despite being seated. “I w’s jus’ nervous to ask you about it. I kinda thought. S’metimes you look little bit gay.”

Dale nods. He understands that they’re both drunk. This fact seems important, but he’s not sure why at the moment.

“Harry.”

“Yeah.” Harry is steadying himself by holding onto Dale.

“I’m we’re. Shit.” Dale stops briefly. “I’m glad we’re friends.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“I like you.”

“Okay.”

“Harry.”

“Yeah.”

“I like you a lot.”

“Me too. ’M glad w’re friends, Coop.” Harry shakes his head again and very nearly pitches forward off the couch. Dale pulls him by his arm to keep him in place. “They said t’not kiss people. ’Cause of the shots.”

Dale doesn’t understand why Harry says this. “Aren’t you. You. Done having those?”

“Yeah. Gotta be careful.” Harry lets go of Dale and sinks back into the corner of the couch. “Think’m drunk, Coop.”

“We both are.”

They finish their cans of beer and proceed to open new ones.

* * *

The morning following the Super Bowl begins with Dale experiencing the worst headache of his life. Additionally, he very desperately needs to urinate before he bursts from the pressure, but is unable to do so because Harry apparently saw fit to sleep over top of him and he’s effectively trapped under his friend’s weight.

“Harry, get off me,” Dale groans, pushing his shoulder in an attempt to rouse him.

Harry grunts and only moves closer, snuggling right into Dale’s chest and immediately falling back to sleep. As adorable as that is, Dale simply can’t stay on the couch any longer.

“Harry, wake up.” He pushes harder this time to no effect. “Harry.”

“Grmph.”

“Harry, get up.”

Harry grumbles again, but begins to stir. He manages to peel himself partially away from Dale and ultimately falls sideways off the couch. Ordinarily Dale would stop to make sure Harry’s alright, but he doesn’t have time and immediately runs for the bathroom. Emerging again a short time later, Dale is reduced to a state of clutching his skull in agony. He manages to determine that he’s extremely dehydrated and requires nourishment, but how he’ll achieve that remains to be seen. After a moment Dale manages to find his way back to the couch and sit with his hands over his eyes.

“You want some aspirin, Coop?” Harry asks from… somewhere.

“I’d appreciate it, yes.”

In short order the aspirin and a glass of water are placed in his hands. Dale swallows the entire glass despite a lingering feeling of nausea plaguing him and he makes his best effort to relax while waiting for the analgesic to take effect.

“We drank an entire box of beer,” Harry comments, also sitting.

“Something I’ll never do again. Are you alright, Harry?”

“I’ve had worse hangovers.”

“You also landed on the floor.”

“Oh… yeah, I’m okay. Once the aspirin kicks in and I can uncross my eyes we’ll have breakfast.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat,” Dale admits.

“Coop, trust me, a big plate of bacon and eggs is what you need right now. Once your belly’s full the hangover packs up and leaves pretty much immediately.”

“If you say so, Harry.”

“I do say so.” Harry pauses. “It really only works with beer hangovers, though. With hard liquor you’re just shit out of luck for the whole day.”

Dale nods. It can be reasonably assumed that Harry knows what he’s talking about. They sit in silence for awhile, suffering companionably on the couch as they wait to become marginally functional again. Very predictably, Harry recovers much sooner than Dale and retreats to the kitchen to cook breakfast. Dale attempts to distract himself with thoughts of Harry snuggling him while they slept. It’s unreasonable how much the idea pleases him, especially considering the fact that Harry has expressed no romantic interest towards him at any point.

The scent of food brings forth conflicting feelings - Dale knows he should eat, and he’s admittedly very hungry, but concurrently he’s nauseous and fears the consequences of eating. He also has a strong intuition that Harry won’t let him leave until he’s had breakfast.

A hand resting on his shoulder from behind the couch. “Grub’s on, Coop.”

Dale drags himself off the couch and into the kitchen, where he discovers a heap of scrambled eggs and eight strips of bacon waiting for him. Seated across from Harry, he decides to eat the bacon first. Apparently this was the correct course of action because almost immediately after he swallows his symptoms begin to rapidly subside.

“So was I right?” Harry grins at him.

Dale nods. “Most definitely. Thank you, Harry.” A thought occurs. “Have you called the station and notified them that you’ll be late?”

Harry shakes his head and gulps down his current bite. “I took today off. This happens every year, everyone knows I’m not at work the day after the Super Bowl.”

“I worry for the state of your liver.”

“I don’t usually binge-drink, Coop.”

Dale elects not to bring up Josie. It would be tasteless to do so. “Thank you for having me over. It’s fortunate I wasn’t assigned to a case this week.”

They eat without speaking for a few minutes, but it isn’t an awkward quiet because Dale doesn’t allow awkward quiets. They’re good friends enjoying breakfast, and that makes him happy, especially since it’s beating back his hangover. In moments like this, it contents him that he’s friends with Harry and it’s easier to accept that “friends” is the stopping point for their relationship. To hope for more than this would just be selfish.

“You thinking pretty hard over there, Coop?”

Dale smiles. “It’s my natural state of being, Harry.” _Yours is to sit there, looking handsome and intelligent, even at times when most people would classify you as ‘a mess.’_ “I can’t recall any point in my life where my mind has ever been at rest.”

“Even during meditation?”

“There are many types of meditation,” Dale explains. “Not all of them require you to achieve complete emptiness in your mind. Some discipline you to find a point of focus in your thoughts, which brings immense clarity to difficult situations and often provides solutions you might not have otherwise conceived.”

“Huh.” Harry nods and slowly begins to look uncomfortable. “Coop, I shouldn’t have said what I said yesterday. It’s not really any of my business and I only asked about it because I was drunk.”

“I don’t mind, Harry. In fact it’s very likely better for the information to be out in the open now and I don’t begrudge you for curiosity.”

“I won’t keep asking about it,” Harry promises, presumably under the assumption that it would be rude to do so.

“Are you concerned now that you’ve learned this about me?”

“Kinda, but probably not for the reasons you think I’d be,” Harry admits.

Dale immediately understands what’s going on here. “You have similar inclinations but have never discussed it with anyone prior to this. Due to the systemic homophobia of the environment you grew up in, you believe the majority of people you know are heterosexual and won’t understand.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Hopefully this is obvious by now, Harry, but it’s perfectly safe for you to talk about it with me if you want.”

Harry snorts a laugh, but he appears relieved to hear it. “Yeah.”

“Would you like an anecdote?”

“Sure, go for it.”

“I understand that you don’t care for hockey, Harry, but it might still amuse you to know that when I was nine years old my first ‘crush’ was a Polish hockey player on the Flyers’ roster named John Miszuk. I initially became interested in the sport because of him… my father naturally assumed I was simply interested in the sport, and that I would possibly become an athlete later on.”

Harry chuckles. “So you always knew?”

“I always knew,” Dale affirms.

* * *

“Dale, why don’t you just give it to him before you go?” Denise asks, mild exasperation in her tone.

“If mailed at the proper time, it should arrive on the correct day instead of three days early,” he points out. “It’s not outlandishly elaborate, and I thought you’d be able to appreciate me taking things in steps.”

“You could just tell him, Coop.”

“Yes, I could, but I’m not going to yet,” Dale insists. “I believe a gradual approach is the right course of action. Would you like to see what it says?”

He hands over the card and Denise elects to read it aloud. “‘Dear Harry, I thought you might appreciate receiving something for Valentine’s Day despite the fact that you don’t have anyone special in your life right now. Unfortunately I don’t know what type of confectionaries you enjoy so please accept this mixed box of chocolates. I would’ve presented this to you in person but as you know I’m working a case for what I believe will be the next two to three weeks. I hope you appreciate my efforts and that your day today is quiet and enjoyable. Love Dale.’ Dale Bartholomew Cooper, you couldn’t be less romantic if you _tried._ ”

“It’s intentionally not romantic,” Dale insists. “If it seemed romantic in any way, it may confuse or frighten him, which would be an unsatisfactory result.”

“Coop, I just want you to know that after watching you solve murder cases and stop domestic terrorists it’s really funny for me that you can’t just ask your sheriff out on a date like a normal person,” Denise comments.

“Funny as in amusing or strange?”

“Both.”

“Denise would you prefer me to walk into his office at the station and kiss him with no warning or explanation?”

“Honestly? Yeah,” she nods. “It bothers me that you don’t realize how unhappy you are.”

“I’m not unhappy,” Dale argues, offended.

“Coop, you’re the last man on earth I should have to tell to get more in touch with his feelings.”

“I’m generally very unsuccessful at romantic entanglements,” he admits. “Which is precisely why I’m making an effort to pursue this matter slowly. In nearly every other instance, I was in over my head after moving forward too quickly.”

Denise sighs. “I guess I can’t really blame you for that.”

“Thank you.”

“Coop, after you get back from Wyoming I think you should sit down and talk to Harry about this. It’ll give you time to come up with plenty of excuses for why you didn’t just tell him sooner, and it’ll also give him time to process the terrifying implications of a box of candy,” she teases.

“The problem arises that he seems not to be interested in me, Denise.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

“My intuition rarely fails me. Additionally, there are no notable behavioral changes in Harry for the time I’ve known him. It almost always occurs that when a person becomes interested in another person in a romantic sense there are shifts in body language. Either they’ll become awkward or become overtly more eager to spend time with the object of their affections, often some combination of the two. Harry has done neither of those things.”

Dale closes the box and scrawls Harry’s home address across the top. He prefers giving gifts in person and taking a lesser option irks him slightly, but he also feels compulsed to ensure that Harry receives it on time for Valentine’s Day.

“Coop, I know this doesn’t happen very often, but did it occur to you that maybe you missed something on this one?” Denise suggests gently. “Because if I was a meaner person than I am, I’d probably be taking bets on you the way Albert does.”

“Albert takes bets on me?”

“Sometimes… I don’t have to work with him very often, thank god, but every time I do he’s running some kind of pool based on your behavior and I’ve always seen him come out on top.”

“I was not aware of this. The next time I see Albert I’m going to give him an earful.”

“That’s also beside the point, Dale. In your shoes, I’d just take the chance that Harry really does have a thing for you and you just didn’t notice somehow.”

“Your suggestion is noted.”

“And you’re not going to follow it,” she guesses.

“I didn’t say that. I’ll take it under consideration and if you’re still in Twin Peaks when I return I’ll inform you of my decision.”

* * *

The case in Wyoming, which Dale predicted at two to three weeks, is resolved in twelve days. He returns home to Twin Peaks on Monday afternoon with a laceration to the back of his left hand and chronically less than sufficient sleep, but still ultimately elects to come by the station. He’s interested to see if Denise’s team has concluded its work yet, and he’d also like to see Harry. When he returns to his house afterwards he’ll change the bandage on his hand and possibly go to bed without first eating dinner.

“Good afternoon, Agent Cooper. I thought you wouldn’t be back yet today,” Lucy greets him from the window.

“I wasn’t expecting to be back so soon either, but the case was far from difficult and therefore easily concluded. Are Denise and Harry here?”

“Not at the moment. Agent Bryson left to go eat lunch with her partner and I think they’re working out the details of an operation they’re planning soon but she should be back in half an hour or less. Sheriff Truman is on a call for some teenagers who apparently skipped school to throw a bunch of firecrackers into the dumpsters behind Norma’s diner, and he said the dumpster may have caught fire but Big Ed Hurley was there and managed to grab one of the teenagers for him so I don’t know when he’ll be back. Agent Cooper, what happened to your hand?”

“Knife attack, Lucy. Thank you for the information.”

“I think you could just wait in Sheriff Truman’s office, he won’t mind.”

“Thanks, Lucy.”

Dale sits in front of Harry’s desk and passes the time briefly by entertaining the idea of doing what Denise keeps insisting on and “just going for it” with Harry. Mild nervousness accompanied by a jolt of excitement runs through him at the thought. Perhaps he will do that, after all…

From the hallway: “Agent Bryson, Agent Cooper is here and he wanted to talk to you if you’re not busy.”

Dale immediately relocates to the conference room and Denise follows him there. “Are you closing in yet?”

“It looks like it,” she nods. “This time we have RCMP officers who’re on the up-and-up, so that certainly helps things along. They’ve been cracking down on affiliates of this drug syndicate for the last couple of days or so.”

“Excellent. Will you require my testimony in court?”

“It’s possible,” she nods. “If we do, I’ll make sure the Bureau knows pretty far in advance so that you won’t end up stuck somewhere else when you’re supposed to be pointing fingers at people.”

Her eyes catch his bandage and he predicts the question. “An attacker with a knife. He had extremely poor aim, much to my benefit.”

“You’re back a lot sooner than you thought you’d be, too.”

“Yes, it turned out to be rather irritatingly simple,” Dale admits. “I feel guilty wishing for challenges, as those usually involve at least one homicide, but a brand-new agent could’ve been sent to this one and done fine.”

The main doors bang open and they both lean out of the conference room to look - Hawk has a rather pathetic looking fourteen-year-old by the neck and is marching him down the hall to the cells, and Harry stops after a few steps to watch this with an extremely annoyed expression. His cheeks, nose and ears are pink from the frigid temperature outside and Dale thinks it’s positively stunning on him. When Harry notices Dale’s presence, his face softens considerably.

“Coop, Denise, you two here to see me?”

“We are, but not for the same reasons,” Denise answers, glancing at Dale in a very knowing way. “If I can just borrow you for a moment first, Sheriff, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Sure,” Harry nods, removing his hat and puffy winter coat. “Coop, you can just sit in my office if you want.”

Dale obliges without protest and in less than three minutes Harry joins him there. Interestingly, he’s carrying a roll of paper towels and a first aid box of dinged-up blue metal. Even more interestingly, he closes the door behind him.

“Here, lemme see your hand real quick.”

“It’s alright, Harry, it can wait until I get home,” Dale protests, not wanting to inconvenience his friend.

“I got real good at putting on fresh bandages last month,” Harry gently insists. “And it’ll be way easier for me to do since I can use both hands.”

A valid point. “Alright.”

Harry layers several paper towels on his desk before cutting the wrap with scissors, setting Dale’s hand on the stack before even attempting to remove the gauze pad. Unfortunately for Dale, it’s the fluffy kind, which means the scab has stuck to it in several places and he begins to bleed as Harry peels it off.

“Damn, Coop. Sorry about that.”

“Harry, I’d like to take this moment to point out that I’ve been shot in the liver. Comparatively speaking, this is unnoticeable.”

Harry chuckles. “Okay then.”

He carefully pours some rubbing alcohol across the back of Dale’s hand before taking a clean paper towel and lightly blotting to take up the blood. Dale’s skin tingles everywhere that Harry’s fingertips have touched. Their hands are approximately the same size, but Harry’s are rougher, workman-like. It’s unreasonable how attractive Dale finds this quality.

Neosporin is now utilized, semi-smeared over the laceration prior to the application of a fresh gauze pad which hopefully won’t stick as badly as the previous one did. Finally, a new bandage to wrap over top. Dale has never witnessed his friend putting so much care into such a simple task before.

Harry tapes the gauze bandage into place. “You’re all set, Coop,” he murmurs. One of his hands is still holding Dale’s wrist in a way that can arguably be labeled as ‘tenderly’.

It’s largely debatable whether the action of closing his eyes in this case is voluntary or automatic. Dale understands perfectly what will happen as he does it, because shortly following Harry is kissing him. It’s light, just on the edge of nervous at first. When Dale doesn’t step back or push Harry away, Harry seems to become emboldened, inching closer into Dale’s space and allowing more feeling to permeate this kiss. One of his hands slides up from Dale’s wrist to cover the bandaged area, cradling it to his chest so that his heartbeat distantly thumps on Dale’s fingertips. The other comes to rest on the side of Dale’s face. His lips are slightly chapped and he tastes like black coffee and the tip of his nose is still a tiny bit cold against Dale’s skin, and he’s perfect. Harry puts so much feeling into this kiss and Dale can sense all of it.

Their foreheads still touch afterwards. Neither opens his eyes and they breathe quietly, almost daring the other to speak first.

“I was going to say something today anyway,” Dale eventually admits. “Denise has been badgering me about it for some time now but I was convinced you had no interest in me.”

“Yeah, that was on purpose,” Harry mumbles. “I remembered all that stuff you said about body language so I did my best to act normal. I didn’t know you wanted this.”

Dale doesn’t think any words are adequate to describe how impressed he is that Harry managed to outsmart him. It doesn’t happen often and he’s beyond shocked, but in a manner that’s also very pleased. In addition it explains, finally, why he didn’t notice anything. There was simply nothing to notice because Harry made damn sure that there wasn’t.

“What finally tipped you off?”

“Coop, you sent me a card for Valentine’s Day. Nobody does that for me. Ever. And besides, I know you well enough by now to get through the rambling and see what you actually mean underneath it most of the time. You could’ve saved probably half the ink in that pen if you just wrote ‘Harry I love you’ in block letters, because it means the exact same thing.”

Dale smiles. “Very astute of you, Harry.” He pauses briefly. “Please answer me honestly when I ask, but did Denise have anything to do with this?”

“She told me to fix your hand. That’s it,” Harry promises. “Coop, why didn’t you just tell me? Usually you’re good about that.”

“Had my feelings been unrequited as I suspected, it could’ve potentially caused severe damage to our friendship and that wasn’t something I was willing to take away from you.”

Harry’s head shakes against his and that rough palm slips down to the back of his neck. Dale forces himself not to shiver no matter how desperately his peripheral nervous system wants him to.

“You think too much, Coop.”

“I know, you’ve said so before.”

Harry kisses him a second time, and it’s much more involved than the first. Their arms wrap around each other’s shoulders like the warmest and most secure blankets and their belt buckles tap together with a muffled _clink._ Dale decides he should’ve delivered the box in person a week and a half ago… and with this thought comes the realization that for all his internal complaints of love being complicated, it’s very likely that he’s the one who made it difficult for himself in the first place. Because after all the dawdling and going back and forth on whether he should tell Harry or not, now that he finally has Harry it seems much less complicated and difficult after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time writing Denise, and I think it kinda shows in spots. Oh well.
> 
> The hockey player Cooper says he had a crush on as a kid was one of just TWO players on the Flyers their debut season that wasn't from Canada.
> 
> It was really hard for me to come up with a reason why Cooper wouldn't just automatically know Harry was in love with him. Most of the time he just knows shit like that so this was a difficult idea for him to pull off. It's likely that part of the reason, aside from Harry trying so hard, is because he was so preoccupied with being in love with Harry that he just failed to notice a couple of things.
> 
> ADDENDUM. Check out [this Tumblr post](https://aaronthe8thdemon.tumblr.com/post/618292286771675136/absolutely-gorgeous-and-adorable-artwork-drawn-for) for some absolutely wonderful artwork drawn for this fic! ^_^
> 
> All my Twin Peaks fics can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=127943&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Aaron_The_8th_Demon).
> 
> Comments are welcomed and encouraged if you have them :)


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